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The sweat started to bead on Gorm’s face as he fell back into Crying Crane Stance. A long deep stance that was originally intended only as a practice stance for young soldiers. Yet here he was sparring in it. Crying Crane was hard on many parts of the body, but he was still surprised that his wrists ached as he pointed the weapon toward the ground, completing the position. The long stances were made to endow leg strength and were not intended for the quick jerking environment of the sparring ground. He would be forced to use only long sweeping motions of the blade, circular strikes from overhead or ones that come from his side. Though, there was a thrust in this position, that if you did it right you could catch an unwitty foe off guard, but with the sword pointed downwards Gorm would have to shift the blade’s position before he could make it effective. Every movement he made in the position would telegraph his next step and perhaps his next several.
The sparring ground was a well-worn space. The once nice combed sand ground was now starting to harden in spots, even letting grass bloom in others. There was a foot high step around the circular area made from partially rotting, aged wood. Small groups of warriors crowded around the arena, watching as Gorm fought the other warrior. One thing that Gorm felt strongly about was the basics. You couldn’t get anywhere if you neglected them. One soldier remarked how useless the form was and Gorm pointedly told him he’d show just how effective it was. After he took the first few blows, he started to wonder what he got himself into. The stance was important, sure, but effective in combat? Gorm’s face was as steady as the mountains, and as unchangeable as the bark of an ancient tree.
An attack. His opponent lifted his practice sword above his head. Gorm stepped forward, knowing to be ready for several other attacks. It was a good tactic to attack from one direction and then another the next moment. You would think the opponent is trying to take your head off, but in reality, he wanted to bury his sword in your side. Gorm stepped back. Lifting his sword to block, then quickly pulled the wooden blade to his right and left. Blocking another set of attacks that came from those directions. The long stance made his legs ache as he moved, keeping his shoulders high and head low as his legs did all the work. As soon as the man had eased up Gorm took the opening. Swinging his blade across the ground, feinting an attack at the man’s legs, a classic maneuver in this stance. His opponent moved back. As the sword got to Gorm’s center he thrust it at his opponent. The man blocked it to his right. Gorm let his body turn, using the momentum of the strike to fall onto his hands. Bent over on hands and feet, sword laying on the ground, Gorm back kicked the man in the stomach. Causing him to lurch forwards in pain. Gorm stood back up, staying in the long stance, arched backwards while thrusting his blade downwards, touching his opponent between the shoulders from above. The crowd sighed as he hit.
“That’s cheating!” The man yelled. Gorm had only kicked him using fifty percent of his true strength.
“No. That is a well-documented move in this stance. They call it, ‘Sorrows Cry’. It is depicting the head of the crane stretching backward, looking towards the sky. Perhaps screaming at the heavens themselves—”
“Baugh.” The man said. “You’re probably right.” He started to smile. “That’ll teach me not to talk bad about it though, huh?” He laughed.
Gorm attempted an awkward smile. It was intended to teach the man, and he was happy that he could oblige him. “Yes. I hope you do start to take the ‘lower stances’ more seriously. You never know when they will aid you.”
Gorm walked over to the edge of the arena where he kept his longsword and a small pack. He removed a hand rag and wiped his face of the sweat. He was taking a long pull on his waterskin when a rather large bird swooped in to perch on a nearby log. In it’s mouth was a letter. Rolled tightly and sealed with wax.
“Work, this late in the day?” He asked the bird, not expecting any real response. Gorm took the letter absently as the bird flapped away. He removed his hooded cape from his pack and began to walk home down the well beaten trail. It was well wooded here, the trees and animals covered in a red type of fur.
It was a nice spring like day. The sun already starting its downward trek to the horizon, he wanted to make sure the mission was completed before his meeting later in the afternoon. He was to be groomed for leadership. The Ealves had done their best to make sure he had all the physical training and magical awareness, but what they taught him lacked in diplomacy and tactics. All they wanted was an assassin, but The Warband leaders wanted something more. They were about to plan their next hunt. Wild boars were abundant at this time of year near the base of the mountain and he wasn’t about to miss the meeting for,
what was her name again AEtrana.
Jarl, Leifr von’Grimskald was keeping a close eye on Gorm. He even put Hersir Rurik úr’Svartheim in charge of Gorm’s training concerning tactics and the political ‘arts’. Missing this upcoming meeting would be an issue, not only for Gorm’s studies, but also for the face of the Raudrivdr Warband. A small group was coming down from the Frostlund to join forces for the season’s boar hunt. Everyone was interested in seeing the Raudrivdr’s famed Vikingr Gorm. The child that survived. The hunt would mean closer ties and open further trade with the Frostlund. If they didn’t impress, the Jarl was worried the northerners would go elsewhere for trade.
By the time he made it back to his home he had completed reading the letter. He noted that the murder didn’t have any known combat skills, and that she was a practitioner of Fulgur. Setting his belonging on his bed, he reached for his bow that was tucked neatly under it. It was made of Ash wood and strung with the finest horsehair string he could get his hands on. He stood up, swung his leg around, and with a little force strung the longbow. As he did a wooden wolf darkened his doorway.
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AEtrana’s hands still pulsed with power as she started to leave the field of bodies. She hated that she had to leave just as she was starting to have fun, but a boat was waiting for her. In the back of her mind, she could still hear the sweet screams of her last kill. Men always cried for their mothers before they died,
Almoria, Victoria, V’dra, beautiful names, and probably beautiful people.
Too bad they will never get the chance to see them again. AEtrana smiled. She liked to collect the names. Rather, it was something about death rattles that kept her on edge. It let her see something deeper in these people than she could feel empathetically. A part of her wondered what it was about their mothers they were thinking of, was it of their breasts as they fed as children, or the sweet kisses they would receive, perhaps just the ‘love’ in general, the peace and calm that they craved before the chaos of death and battle.
The sack of stolen trinkets dragged at her shoulder. Rings, necklaces, anything of value, she took off the guards and stuffed it all in a hurry. She was now making her way down a well-beaten path toward a small lake nestled in a clearing just outside of Raudrivdr. It was relatively rural and connected to a river that was rather brackish and hazardous. It lead to the ocean which would allow her to join the ship she prepared to go home. Yes, everything was going as planned. She had stayed for the requisite time, killed who she needed to, and covered the whole thing up, making it seem like some sort of murder spree. She liked it more than she cared to admit, and she’d be willing to admit a lot.
Something about the combat thrilled her. The power of fire at her fingertips, lighting even. It called to her to be used, called to her to consume things. No, not just things, souls. She found herself more than happy to oblige. She almost lost herself in the last conflict though, being caught up by the torrential river of combat, a thrill the broiled inside her. It was only the urge to get home that stifled it.
She didn’t care to think of home much, but in this case she had to. The letters from her
master demanded that she returned quickly, the council was encroaching, becoming more suspicious of her. If it wasn’t for her master’s abilities in arcana, AEtrana would leave her to die, instead a small glimmer of
something tugged at her heart. She would assist her master, protect her this last time. Then she would be through with it all, be rid of the whole damn place.
Burn it to the ground perhaps. Her thoughts lingered on the beautiful screams she’d hear, wondering what wonderful names would be brought up.
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Branches and leaves crunched underfoot as Gorm dashed through the woods. His cape flapped behind him like a brown shadow contorted by branches. He had the woman’s last known location, a small village on the outskirts, near the mountains. His heart pounded with anticipation and anxiety. If this woman made him late, he might just kill her outright. He always tried to give the leaders what they wanted, “bring her in alive, though wounding her … is acceptable.” But accidents do happen.
As if the thing heard his thoughts the wooden wolf caught Gorm’s eye.
There was that. His Aelvan overwatch was hovering somewhere nearby. He had to keep that in mind. Perhaps an arrow would mistakenly find it’s way into her head
“sorry, she shifted just the wrong way” or maybe he could blame the wind. He shook his head. As much as this situation frustrated him he couldn’t let himself kill someone for almost nothing. Making him late, was he really contemplating such a thing?
His sword and bow were secured tightly to his back as he ran. He held them close to dodge low hanging branches or thorny bushes. The path wound through the woods. Many of the trails seemed to do that here. The ealves didn’t worry about time, they didn’t try to get anywhere in a hurry usually. Gorm suspected that many of their trails followed deer and rabbit runs. If it was up to him, he’d cut a wide straight road from his home to the neighboring towns. The ealves lived for so long, they found themselves enjoying the trips, taking scenic routes. Gorm wanted to make traveling as short and to the point as possible.
He stopped. His cape grabbed on from behind him, gripping to his form as the wind blew. If he continued down the path he was on it would take him an hour to get there. No, the tree next to him, a large Elm with contorted branches that reminded him of an old man. A familiar sight. He could take a left here. Cutting through the woods would split his time in half, but it was more dangerous. You never knew what was stalking you in this place. It took only two breaths for him to decided. He dashed off the trail and into the red darkness of Raudrvidr.
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The lake was in sight, it glistened like a sheet of glass under the soon setting sun. She was glad she was making good time. The river boater was to be there no longer than sundown. Standing idle might draw unwanted attention and any longer than that the rough fellow should find something to occupy himself. AEtrana was accustom to people just twiddling their thumbs till they were told what to do, hopefully if she took longer than expected the man would just leave. Finding him in the morning wouldn’t be difficult in the small town.
Although AEtrana’s carefully thought-out plan was going just as expected, she couldn’t help but feel anxiety creeping up into her stomach. She was relying on her sudden appearance and quick departure to get out alive. But why did she feel like a mouse being chased by a cat? She shook her head. Long distances always made her second guess herself. Too much time to spend thinking about what going on, wondering about who was looking.
She crested another hill and looked back to the open field behind her. Standing in a clearing near the forest she hoped she would be able to see anyone following her.
Though, She thought,
I probably killed all the brave ones. She hurried down the hill and soon entered the town.
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Gorm came to a clearing. Burned bodies were scattered about in combat formations, some would have surly died without even knowing what had happened. Another small group of charred bodies was laying in a circular patch of dead grass. A fireball. There was no doubt about it. Gorm had read of the power of fire, it wasn’t the most terrifying of arcana, but it was definitely something that should make any sane man think twice about what he was doing.
He took a closer look at the bodies. Some of the grass turning to ash and crunched under his foot as he took a knee. Stripped bare of rings and necklaces by the notable tearing of the skin on the fingers and neck area. It was also done in a rush. A timeline to keep perhaps. Gorm raised his hand to his chin in thought.
He could see the point of origin of the attack, the darkened ground giving away the secrets of the past battle. The woman was heading north. Towards the village on the water, at least that is where her body must have been leaning towards as she fought. Subconsciously the body always pointed to where they truly wanted to be, and watcher of people could tell you that. He followed his suspicion and looked for tracks leading that direction. When he found the rather small footfalls of the woman hidden in the ashen ground, he took off in that direction. He knew enough of the plan to end this now.
The docks to the boat echoed softly as AEtrana walked calmly up to the boater. The man was a scruffy fellow and smelt worse than she remembered. Stale ale and fish rot lingering on the deck of the small raft wafted into the air like a viscous cloud out for the kill. It looked as if the man was pretending to tie up the boat, or at least pretend as if he was having problems with it. Coils of line lied about the area in a heap, some of the ends tangled and others tied with a practiced hand.
“The flickering in your eye…uh…” The man said. “Reminds me of home.” He stumbled, trying to remember exactly what to say.
“A fire light from the deep—recall too much and you’ll find your path” She replied. The code was an old one, but it was all she could come up with at the time of their first meeting.
“Is everything ready? AEtrana asked.
“Yes my lady.” He bowed in jest.
“Stop that!” She looked around nervously.
“I was only—”
“I know. Now is not the time. Let’s get on with it.”
The man handed her a bundle of cloth that smelt like the boat. It even crunched a little as she let one end of the garment fall to the ground. Without thinking too much about, as she feared lingering would just make it harder, she put the fisherman’s coat on. It was baggy, made of a green cloth, and hooded. With that she started to assist the man in untying the boat from the docks.
“The Lue Lue is waiting for us.” The man whispered when he got closer, throwing a handful of cords into the small boat. “Captain wasn’t happy that your master would do this… drastic… of a step.” It was like he had to think of the word before saying it.
“I will speak with him when we arrive.” She replied in a similarly hushed tone. “Is he well?”
“As well as he can be in the circumstances. Rot got his leg while you were gone. Most of the work on deck has been done by XO.” The man said.
AEtrana wouldn’t show the cringe that hid behind her teeth. The XO of the Lue Lue had a strong hand. He tends to answer much of the backtalk with a whipping. She even saw him keelhaul a man on their way to Alhiem. A disgusting thing. Burning people was much better, more personal, close enough to hear the rattle.
“Well. When we get home maybe master can look at him.”
“If he makes it that far.” The man said throwing in a small box from off the dock into the boat. “All set. Best be off.”
They both climbed into the small raft. A sudden feeling of dread came over her. Out of the corner of her eye a person riding a wooden creature crested a hill. She could feel it. He was looking for her. She pulled the hood down and started to paddle fast.
“Go. Go.” She urged her fellow sailor.
“I’m going. I’m going.” He said absentmindedly, matching her speed.
